In an Empty Room
by Iseki
Summary: Pre-HM SI Will Drabble. Before the Islands returned to rise there was a lonely prince in an empty room and only one choice ahead of him.


_A/N: This was a drabble challenge from Lexy on the Ushi no Tane forums "a story about Will's life as a rich man back home and how he decides he wants to get away from it all and live elsewhere!" I quite liked what I came up, and I think that the HM section here could always use more character-centric fiction. Please enjoy (or let me know why you hated it!) :)_

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><p>Bored.<p>

For the first time in his life William Terry Louis Andrew Carrick Jonathan Dredge Hams Reading Roger Southwark Alwick Plymouth Junior Regison III was utterly, stiflingly, claustrophobically bored.

And it wasn't the breakfast tea served customarily at precisely eleven o'clock from the day's choice of fine bone china, nor the biscuits that were prepared delicately to accompany it; both were a delight to the senses as always. The manor cook was a jovial if not officious man who took great pride in his work and his sense of perfect was never amiss, not even in the winter when he suffered from seasonable melancholy. Certainly it couldn't be the view of the garden from beyond the crystalline clear panes of bay windows so definitively outlined by copious folds of velvet and tassels; it beckoned with its trim grasses and animal topiaries that one might come, frolic, be merry and forget all troubles. No, Will had always enjoyed his tea and daily reflection from behind this glass. The garden's grew and moved and yet always stayed the same. It was a great comfort to sit and watch the stillness.

So what in all this heavenly and finely tuned empire could be causing his indisputable and oppressive boredom? He could only draw one conclusion. Company; A man can live in all the best riches and gold of the world but alone his life meant nothing.

Past the gilded hallway a nursemaid fluttered lightly to his mother's quarters so as not to disturb him, but the peace of his elevenses was already in tatters.

"Meryl," he called to her and the white brimmed face of youth and diligence appear beyond to door.

"Young Master?" She enquired politely. Exactly as they always did. Meryl was his mother's so their interaction was scarce, but he had never been one to overlook an employee and at the very least learn all of their names.

"How is my mother," he stood without sound. Each movement was perfectly calculated to grace, and for the better part of his life he had always remained unruffled.

"She is tired, sir." Meryl's head bowed uncertainly, knowing Will's mother forbade her to say any more than this and feeling that the First Son's eyes were always so honest and pure that it was wrong to secret away the truth. In spite of this he'd already expected such an answer. His mother was always tired and that made the preparation slowly formulating inside his caffeine-heightened brain stall momentarily.

"Send her my well wishes," was the best he could pass to Meryl and she hurried away in a shuffle of guilt. The silence of his habitually pleasant sitting room was anything but soothing. He could hear the clock tick and chime and realized it was the sound of his own movement. It had already been decided.

One or two of the staff were loyal to him alone. An elderly gardener who had been present in the manor since his birth and a young butler assigned to him when he was barely a year older. He could easily keep his exit quiet until nightfall and his father would be none the wiser.

Inside the Worcester teacup the amber liquid of his former life had gone stale. Tealeaves settled at the bottom like lost sailors and the spoon still sat unperturbed within the sugar bowl. He might never drink tea again. It was uplifting in a manner. Although he'd always had the freedom to do as he pleased, the freedom of shedding his old self was far more liberating. He was made of air; his footsteps were like raindrops of the path to his dorm where a few shirts, trousers, and plenty of under things were packed with a flourish—he had never even done his own laundry and found that he entirely looking forward to the experience. He could take a car, oh but Arthur would be so insulted, he would take a boat. By boat he would need to stick to harbour towns or island resorts: exotic lands with exotic people.

His mother would understand. His father would not, but perhaps when he returned with a beautiful lady on one extended elbow he might forgive him. The First Son's place was not only to take up the responsibility and throne but to produce heirs, and in Will's mind that left him only one choice. He must stave off this perpetual boredom and fall in love. It would not be an easy task, it might take years, and he might not only love for the first time but also need to nurse a broken heart for the first time, but at that moment none of the qualms could distract his aim from anything but success.

A hazy image was conjured behind the glowing prospective of his future. He recognized it immediately: his distant uncle Regis. He had a daughter not much younger than him. He could visit them first and gain some direction from another traveller-by-water. It was a plan that couldn't fail. His mother would be proud.

With suitcase in hand, and a weary butler on his heels, William Terry Louis Andrew Carrick Jonathan Dredge Hams Reading Roger Southwark Alwick Plymouth Junior Regison III answered the call of pastures new. And on one pleasantly lit yet late afternoon of a courtly manor by the seaside, a young prince was nothing less than graceful as he effectively ran away from home.


End file.
